


Safety

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Bullying, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 15:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: Cloud hides getting beaten (by various parties) for as long as he can, until Sephiroth intervenes.Prompt: "It's okay. I'm used to it."





	

               Cloud was simultaneously the most and least door-mat-like person you could meet. He always put up a fight, always, even when it was stupid and counter-productive and did nothing but make the situation worse. He was easily intimidated, he had no delusions about that; when bullies, on their own or in groups, approached him, he felt sick to his stomach and pale and his hands shook. He _knew_ what was coming, what was always coming, but he just couldn’t get it through his head to not provoke his attacker. Sure, he was terrified, but it sparked indignation in him, a sharp anger that gave him the nerve to spit back insults, to goad attackers, to sometimes even be the first to throw a punch.

               He was also, however, weak. He had always been scrawny, and no matter what he did the muscle simply wouldn’t grow. He was clumsy, and tripped on air more often than he did outstretched legs. He had no idea how to defend himself, and his attempts always failed and were met with mockery.

               It made the trouble that followed him so much worse.

               He was used to getting his ass kicked. He hated how used to it he was, but there was little he could do about his lot in life. His father, a black-out drunk with a fierce temper, had taught him how to take a hit earlier than he would readily admit. He didn’t always fight back, no, that was a learned habit that had taken a long time to build. The only thing he was more accustomed to than getting his ass kicked, was hiding the aftermath.

               His father was a saint around his mother. Even when he was blind drunk, even when his anger was at its worst, he hid the worst of himself from his mother. No, it was in back rooms and moments when his mother stepped out of the house that it happened. Cloud was terrified, was _always_ terrified, and despite the fact that he clung to his mother’s apron strings, he couldn’t avoid it. When his father threatened him with further beatings if he was discovered, Cloud did his utmost to keep the secret.

               It was, however, only a matter of time before he was caught. There was only so many times he could “fall down the stairs,” and his mother was by no means a stupid woman. When she finally pulled a confession from Cloud, he wept, he begged her not to tell his father, told her of the looming threats.

               As accustomed as he was to his father’s rage, he had never seen someone as furious as his mother was in that moment.

               When his father came home that night from work, intending to drop off his things and go drinking, he was greeted with the sight of all his things in boxes and bags at the front door.

               “What is this?” he had asked. His eyes had cut to Cloud, and when he saw the boy flinch further behind his mother’s legs, the fury on her face, he knew immediately what happened.

               “You’re going to leave,” she said, slowly, carefully. “You will leave and you will never come back and so help me, if I find out you laid a hand on my boy _one more time_ , you’ll wish you were never born.”

               His father tried to be pushy. He tried to threaten her into cowing, had stormed up to her and yelled, screamed, and his mother had watched with nothing but stubbornness and a quiet, burning rage.

               “Do not make me repeat myself,” she had said.

               When he reached out in anger, to force her into submission, she grabbed the (carefully placed) skillet off the kitchen table and hit him in the head with it as hard as she could.

               Cloud watched in shock and awe.

               As he reeled, holding his head, off balance and in pain, his mother had taken advantage of the moment to push him to the door.

               “Get out of here,” she said, shoving him out of the door. “I’ll be generous and send your things to the inn. If I see you on this doorstep again, I won’t be held responsible for what happens to you.”

               With that, she slammed the door in his face, throwing the lock behind it.

               The man had banged on the door and yelled and carried on, for far too long, causing a huge scene, but Cloud’s mother didn’t give a damn. The only further response she gave was to yank the door open, throw her wedding ring at him, and close and lock the door again. She had held Cloud for hours, apologizing for not noticing, promising things would be okay.

               Despite the bad omen that went with it, she took back her maiden name, and they were the Strifes from that day forward.

               She was the one who had taught Cloud to have fight back, and though it got him in trouble, he was forever grateful for it. It took years for Cloud to recover, and if he was honest with himself, he would always bear the scars in his heart from his father. But he promised himself he would never take another beating lying down, and he kept his word.

               It didn’t stop the bullies in Nibelheim from wiping the floor with him.

               He did his best to get past it, but no matter what he or his mother did, the town simply wasn’t on their side. A single mother in Nibelheim didn’t inspire a lot of sympathy, despite the fact that the whole village was aware of the situation with Ms. Strife’s former husband. He made another promise to himself, that he would gain the strength to put a stop to it, that he would be able to defend himself properly. It was why, though his mother was against it, he signed up with Shinra.

               He hadn’t expected bullies to find him in Shinra again.

               He swore it was the curse of his last name. That, or something about him just screamed victim to those who knew how to look for it. Maybe it was nothing at all, just his scrawny build that got him into this trouble over and over again. He would never know for sure.

               When he failed the SOLDIER exam, it only got worse.

               There had been a slight dip in the issue when he befriended SOLDIER First Zack Fair. No one laid a hand on him while they were together, and it gave Cloud extra incentive to be around his friend (though he did feel guilty about it, as if he was using him for the protection he offered). But they couldn’t be together all the time, and the problem certainly didn’t end. His tormentors just got more creative in their attempts to catch him alone.

               Cloud refused to tell Zack about the issue because he wanted to handle it himself. He had sworn he would be able to defend himself, and though it was proving significantly harder than expected, he wasn’t one to give up. In the meantime, he hid the evidence again, the way he had learned from his father, the way he had practiced hiding from his mother with the bullies in Nibelheim. It was easier now that he was in the army; there were more readily available excuses. Training incidents, sparring, mishandling his weapon and hurting himself—there were enough options that it seemed like he never had to use the same excuse twice. It helped that he was naturally clumsy, making Zack more ready to believe the bruises were accidents he had gotten himself into.

               What he hadn’t expected was the difficulty keeping his secret from Sephiroth.

               Everyone knew he was friends with Zack, but the fact that he knew Sephiroth was a well-kept secret, so there was no dip in incident-frequency that accompanied their friendship. Sephiroth, similarly, never asked about the bruises, though he overheard him making excuses to Zack a handful of times. Every time he watched silently, face blank, though his eyes were strangely intent. Cloud learned not to meet his eye when it happened.

               He _certainly_ hadn’t been prepared for the difficulty of keeping his secret once he and Sephiroth started dating.

               The time he spent with Sephiroth was time he was safe, as was his time with Zack, so his company was appreciated for more reason than one. They grew significantly closer than he had been prepared for, yet still, Sephiroth never asked, not once. It made Cloud more nervous than if he had—he had no idea what his partner’s thoughts on the matter were, couldn’t counter any suspicions if Sephiroth never voiced them.

               When they had first stumbled into the bedroom, Cloud had moved Sephiroth’s hands away whenever he pulled at his clothes, refusing to undress more than was strictly necessary. He intended to excuse it with embarrassment and nerves, but again, Sephiroth never asked. And he certainly _was_ nervous, so he hoped that the reasoning was implied heavily enough to set Sephiroth’s mind at ease. He kept it up as long as he could, but there was only so many times he could hide behind hesitance. Even when the clothes came off, Sephiroth never commented. More than once, he traced the bruises and scabs and raised welts, fingers gentle, almost ghosting across his skin.

               But he never asked, not once.

               Cloud began to wish he would, just so they could confront the issue. The silence made him nervous.  He’d seen Sephiroth trail eyes and fingers over his wounds, it wasn’t like the man didn’t know about them. But because he didn’t ask, Cloud couldn’t make any excuses. It was almost as frustrating as it was nerve-wracking.

               It took the matter getting out of hand to force the issue.

               Cloud had gone on a mission—standard procedure, nothing at all new. But his CO hated him; he felt personally offended to be stuck with a weakling. His squad hated him for holding them back. They had cleared the monster infestation they were sent to deal with easily. When the other troopers turned their sights on Cloud, his CO just turned his back, paying more attention to his cigarette than his men. He pretended not to hear the scuffle, not to notice Cloud getting overpowered, to be ignorant as his squad went further than they had before, knowing they could get away with it with the excuse of the mission.

               Cloud had been sent to the infirmary when he returned to Shinra tower.

               Zack had been furious when he found out. His CO claimed that Cloud had gone off by himself against orders, had gotten himself cornered, that they had rescued him as soon as they could but it was too late to save him from injury. Zack tore into him for not knowing where each of his men were at all times, especially over the amount of time it took Cloud to get that many injuries—it was clear that he wasn’t “stranded by himself” for an insignificant amount of time. Cloud wanted to protest (it would only make his CO hate him more), but it would only raise Zack’s suspicions.

               It was a phone call that pulled Zack away from the CO (who was told that he wasn’t done with him). He hung up, told Cloud to go to “their friend’s” apartment to recover, and turned to argue with the nurses who began to protest. His CO watched him with hate while Zack’s back was turned as he moved slowly, one crutch under his arm for support, but he was the least of Cloud’s worries right now.

               He had no idea what Sephiroth would say about the “accident.”

               When Cloud finally got to his apartment, Sephiroth had opened the door and stood aside to allow him in without a word. He gestured to the couch, and Cloud sank onto it, watching Sephiroth warily. He disappeared down the hall, only to return juggling a materia and potions. He still didn’t speak as he passed the potions to Cloud, who obediently downed them, nose wrinkling at the taste. Sephiroth used the mastered Cure carefully, working slowly from the most severe injuries to the least. The wounds healed, his black eye and split lip being the last, leaving his body sore where it had stitched itself back up.

               Sephiroth touched the edges of his black eye as it disappeared.

               “Who did this.” It was very clearly not a question.

               “I got separated, the monsters—”

               “I read the report. I did not ask for a review of it. I asked who did this to you.”

               Cloud licked his lips nervously.

               “No one, it was—”

               “Cloud, do you take me for a fool?” Sephiroth was still watching him with that flat, emotionless look. Cloud didn’t know what to make of it.

               “ _No_ , but—”

               “The pattern of your injuries has never matched the stories you’ve given,” Sephiroth said, reaching out, tracing where the wounds had been, checking that they were completely healed.

               Cloud missed a beat. He immediately cursed himself; that second of silence was damning.

               “I don’t know what you mean,” Cloud said. “Of course they matched.”

               “Your ‘spar injuries’ never matched the most likely places one would attack, some were impossibly far off. In a spar, a blow is given once before the match is called; you would never have been hit so many times, with such force, in the same place to draw blood. Falling down the stairs doesn’t leave rounded bruises, and never in so many areas. Fumbling with your rifle would never leave a bruise on your back. Should I keep going, or will you tell me the truth?”

               Cloud paled. His stomach flipped before falling between his toes. His hands trembled. He didn’t know what to do—didn’t have the faintest idea of how to proceed. The last time he had been caught he was a child, and he’d readily cried to his mother once it was discovered. But the situation couldn’t be more different. This was his boyfriend, his lover, the highest ranking individual in the army, his general. What would happen if he fessed up? Who would be punished? The image of his mother hitting his father with the skillet flashed through his mind. What retaliation would he face if Sephiroth intervened? Was it better or worse to keep playing the idiot?

               “I…” was all Cloud could get out. The trembling spread from his hands. He couldn’t meet Sephiroth’s eyes, and oh, he was in trouble now, there was no way Sephiroth didn’t notice his reaction, he was caught, he was so screwed.

               Sephiroth reached out, cupping Cloud’s face between his palms.

               “Breathe,” he insisted quietly.

               He hadn’t even noticed when his breaths started coming in so short, so shallow, so hard.

               Sephiroth’s thumbs stroked over his face, and now Cloud couldn’t look away from his gaze, the panic attack getting worse before it got better. Cloud’s hands were white-knuckled where he gripped his knees. Sephiroth waited with infinite patience as Cloud’s panic came and went, before he slumped, drained from the attack. Sephiroth was still kneeling at his feet, his face still between his palms.

               “Good,” Sephiroth said, watching each symptom of the panic slip away.

               “I’m sorry,” Cloud said. Sephiroth’s brow furrowed.

               “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he insisted.

               “I’m—I just—I’m so sorry.”

               “Cloud,” Sephiroth said, voice hitting a note of soothing that Cloud had never heard before. “None of this is your fault.”

               _It is_ , Cloud thought. _All of it is_. He thought back over each time he refused to undress, of all the times he’d swatted hands away, of hiding winces and grimaces when hands accidentally brushed bruises, of lying through his teeth over and over and over again. He was party to this, he was sure. He should have said something sooner. Why hadn’t he said something?

               “It’s okay,” Cloud said, desperate to recover the situation, to make Sephiroth worry less. “I’m used to it.”

               It was the wrong thing to say. Something dark passed over Sephiroth’s face.

               “Who.” It was no longer a question, not a statement, but a demand.

               Cloud glanced away, but Sephiroth immediately brought his face around, forcing eye contact.

               He offered a small, bitter little smile.

               “Which time?”

               That dark thing flickered across his face again.

               “I want a list.”

               And Cloud gave it to him. Every fellow trooper, every officer; Sephiroth listened intently, committing it to memory.

               When he finished, Sephiroth’s face softened.

               “I owe you an apology,” Sephiroth said. “I knew, and I allowed it to continue, waiting for you to tell me. It should have been obvious that you weren’t in a position to do so. But I promise you, it will never happen again.”

               His mother had made him that promise, once. Sure, she had stopped his father, but it had continued. Something in him was afraid to trust it, but the look of sheer determination, of bitten back rage, on Sephiroth’s face was enough to convince him.

               He wasn’t sure when he started to cry, but he knew it was instinct to lean forward, to match Sephiroth’s grip on his face, and kiss him. He kissed him until the tears became overwhelming, when he bowed his head to Sephiroth’s shoulder, clutching at his jacket. Sephiroth leaned up to hold him, cheek resting against his blond spikes.

               It was over. It had gone on for so, so many years, and it was finally over.

               He finally felt safe.


End file.
